Those rare moments of clarity, when the world is just what it is, and the human world is a lovely, good-natured game in which everybody wins a little. Those moments of purpose. When I feel I could do anything, but there is no rush. Nothing special or hyperhuman, just the usual tightnesses and shynesses are all lifted and gone, as if by magic, as if they have never been invented as poor shields against something painful, now forgotten. When my face feels relaxed and I breathe in slowly and with dignity. Tasty, well-deserved air. The art to live, to want, to do, to see, to be seen: it all comes back, unpracticed, but not forgotten. Those rare moments of calm. Yet so exciting I can’t sleep, even though I’m as calm as I’ve ever been. Moments triggered by something completely normal, completely out of the blue. Unseeked. Watching the smiles of my relatives in my cousin’s wedding video. Noticing the commonalities and uniquenesses in our faces. Memories of a summer day. One of those rare moments when the puzzle clicks together with a quiet jingle. They can happen anywhere, any time, but usually just around midnight. Too late to begin, too late to finish anything, just the right time. Moments that feel like they would last a lifetime. Maybe they do.